Transitions and Transformation
by TheLucky1331
Summary: Through the eyes of those closest to him, the Curtis gang reveals how an innocent, sweet greaser made the disturbing transition into George Foyet.
1. Chapter 1

_**Prologue**_

"His name was always Ponyboy, and it always will be. His transformation into this "Foyete" character began about a year and a half and Johnny and Dallas' passing. If you remember, Pony once told Two-Bit he took maybe 3, 4 aspirins to clear his headaches, but the pill intake became worse over time. Soda and I tried to stop him. We did everything we could, but then Ponyboy threatend to run away again if we kept putting his pills down the sink. First, it was the aspirins, Tylenol, ibuprofen, whatever cheap painkillers he could get his teenage hands on. I was too ignorant to notice at first, but I soon caught him taking more than the recommended dose.

"_Ponyboy Michael Curtis! _Why are you taking all those muscle relaxers?" I tried to stay calm, but the sound of my voice barking his name startled him. I apologized quickly, keeping my eyes on the red and white pills, cupped in his hand. His eyes were wider than saucers; he knew he'd been caught in the act.

"Look, Dar, my legs hurt like all hell from the track meet. Two pills don't help." Ponyboy stumbled out.

"But five? That's way too many. Take three and drink water, 'lright?" I said back in response. What came next was both unexpected and unlike his character.

"Yes, _father_." Ponyboy hissed, placing the relaxers back in the bottle that contained them. I was going to snap at him, probably hit him again, but the sound of malice and contempt in his voice and eyes kept my lips from forming one syllable. As he left, I stared after him. Ponyboy had grown taller, and his bleach blonde hair was beginning to reveal his brown roots.

"Pony?" I called after him, meaning to apologize. After all, he was fifteen years old now, and capable of making his own decisions.

"What?" He spat, doing an about-face. His glare showed no sympathy. I looked down, sighed, and placed my balled-up fists inside of my pockets. I do that sort of thing when provoked.

"Nevermind. Go do your own thing, alright? But lessen up on those pills." I told him sternly. He sneered at me and left, slamming the door on his way out.

A few moments after Ponyboy had left, I walked into the living room, where Soda was pouring Pepsi into a little glass. I motioned that I needed to talk to him, and he nodded his comprehension.

"What's going on, Darry? Did you and Pone get into another fight?" Soda asked, staring mindlessly at the door in front of us.

"No, at least, I didn't try to. I caught Ponyboy taking five of my muscle relaxers. I thought he'd taken some Tylenol for his pain earlier." I began.

"He did, but did you yell at him again? You know how he gets sometimes, Darry." Soda suggested, looking at me skeptically.

"No. I was calm. He kept snapping at me. All I said was to please stop taking so many pills. I-I don't know what angered him so badly, Soda. I didn't snap at him or threaten to keep him on house arrest. I let the kid do what he wants now."

"That's not like him. It's been over a year since Johnny and Dally died, so, don't you think he'd be past that by now?" Soda asked, unbuttoning his DX work shirt.

"That's what I was thinkin', Soda. Do you think we should have him talk to someone? A professional?" I reccomended, biting my lip.

"I don't need help, Darry! I'M FINE!" Ponyboy threw open the door in his rage. Both mine and Sodapop's heads snapped to the left. In his hand, Ponyboy clutched a bottle of prescription muscle relaxer. Instead of saying nothing; keeping my trap shut, I let the words fly.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Ponyboy? Are you a pillhead? Some sort of," I cringed as I said: "Hippie?" My saying 'hippie' only seemed to anger my fifteen year-old brother even more, and he stormed out that night. I haven't seen, nor heard from Ponyboy since that time. I don't think it's my baby brother who's been commiting these dreadful massacres, sir. Ponyboy can't be The Boston Reaper."


	2. Hits and Misses

**March 16th, 1966**

_**I dio not own Kathy or any other character used. Pony, Soda, Darry, Two-Bit, Steve, Johnny, and Dallas al belong to S.E Hinton. G.F belongs to not me.**_

_Two-Bit's P.o.V_

Ponyboy was always a good ol' kid, despite what the hell Darry says, that he doesn't use his head. Ain't never done anything wrong to me, or any one else. After Dal and Johnny passed on, he sunk down to the lowest low, far worse than any hangover. Started popping pills. It wasn't that he took 12 pills a day at fourteen, but he did start taking sleeping pills.

"Hey, Pone! Whatcha up to now, blonde monkey?" I asked in my usual manner; drunk as hell. Ponyboy looked up at me and scowled. The contempt look on his face reminded me so much of Dally, I did a double take back, not to mention they were both blonde. I quickly apologized. "Golly, kid, sorry. Who crapped in your cornflakes to-MICKEY!" I didn't finish my sentence. After Johnny and Dally passed, Mickey Mouse took it's place as my solace, my way to escape. Ponyboy looked at me, apologizing without actually saying anything to me. I shrugged it off and plopped my wasted ass on the carpet, square in front of the television. Like a routine, I turned the volume all the way up, and, on any other occasion, wouldn't have bothered Ponyboy a damn bit (or two).

"TWO-BIT! TURN THAT SHI-" Ponyboy caught himself mid-curse and sighed. "Stuff down. Please. Unlike you, I'm trying to make purpose of my life." Ponyboy sneered, and quickly went back to whatever the hell he was studying. I turned around to face him, chocolate cake smeared all over my face.

"'Scuse me, wise ass. I come in here every other day and you don't say a damn thing, no matter what you're studyin'. What's ailin' ya, Pone?" I may be a drunk, but I'm a damn good (and nosy) friend.

"Sorry, Two-Bit. Just been really stressed lately." Ponyboy muttered quickly, insincere as ever. I ain't gullible, so I prodded for a more complex answer.

"With? Kath been bein' a bitch?" I asked, cocking my head. Kathy had been a long-time girl of Pony's. They made a cute couple, sure, but they were too much alike to really interest me.

"Kathy ain't a bitch, you drunk smartass." Pony fired back, and that quickly shut me up. Usually, when I insulted _any _girl he hung out with, girlfriend or not, he'd laugh it off casually, insult one of my blondes, and life would go on. His brash answer was both unexpected and angering. I didn't know what on God's green earth was wrong with him, but I was DAMN determined to find out.

"Oh, sooooorry, are you sexually fusturated or something?! Do you need to get laid? You're acting like a little bitch." I snapped right back.

"Two-Bit, get the hell out."

"Suck it, fourteen year old monkey."

"Do you have any aspirin?" A quick subject change. I looked at him confusedly, quirking an eyebrow.

"Naw, why? Didn't you take some aspirin, like, two hours ago?" I nosed, staring at him.

"Okay, _Darry. _I took one aspirin exactly two and a half hours ago. My thighs are killing me from the track meet I had last night."

"Pony, yesterday was Tuesday. Didn't you tell the gang that Tuesday's are the one day you don't got track?"

"As if it's any of your damn business." Ponyboy barked, running upstairs and slamming the door in his anger. I heard him banging around in there, so I let it go. It really offended me that he started acting like Dallas, except ruder and worse of a temper. Since then, he's been actin' like Steve and Dal got together, had a child, and the result was Phonyboy (my new name for him).

"Pony, are you being rude again?" Soda yelled from the doorframe, seeing the confused and hurt look on my face. I was wondering what had happened in the past month that would cause Ponyboy to act like he had been.

"No, Two-Bit's getting in my business." Ponyboy yelled back, and I scoffed, gritting my teeth to keep from saying something I might regret, from telling Soda what I really thought of his moody, brash little brother.

Soda sighed and gave me a look of sympathy. I knew exactly what he was thinking, and it was the same thing I was.

_What the hell is wrong with Ponyboy?_

We both shrugged and began trudging up the stairs, eager to finally get an answer out of him. As we approached the room that he and Soda shared, we sighed and prayed to whatever God that exsisted, that we would get an answer and that Ponyboy would stop acting like a hood rat and start acting like our little Pony again. When we finally kicked down the door, everything that had ever been Ponyboy's was gone, books, everything, and so was he. Soda began to internally deteriorate, and I sank to my knees. Whilst Soda was bawling his eyes, I searched the room for any evidence, any clues that might have lead to why (or how) he ever so suddenly disappeared.

In Ponyboy's place, there was a crudely written note.

_Family,_

_Gone and not coming back. Ever. Don't bring the police into this. _

_Don't try and follow me, because there is no way you will ever find me._

_Move on and forget I ever exsisted._

_You should have made the deal._

_P.M.C/G.F_

I didn't understand why Ponyboy would leave.

He loved his family, his friends, his girl. I didn't understand who "G.F" was, either. Was it an alias or an accompliace?

"T-T-T-Two-Two-B-B-Bit? How we gonna tell Dar? How we gonna tell th-th-th-the r-r-r-rest?!" Soda bawled, hiding his face in his arms and laying on the floor.

I sighed and gently rubbed his shoulder.

"I don't know, Soda. Want a beer to help you think?" I offered, like the good friend I was.

"Two or three. Seven would be damn nice." Soda sniffed, looking up at me all teary-eyed.

"That-a boy!"

**_Third Person P.O.V_**

Ponyboy's sneakers pounded the pavement as he ran, his breath coming out raggedly. He had to get out of there, and get out of there now. He checked behind his shoulder to make sure that he hadn't been followed, and the coast came out clear. Although he was exhausted from running, Ponyboy did not stop. He couldn't. If someone found him, found his treasure cove of sleeping pills and muscle relaxers, he would get more than an ass-whooping from Darry, he would be searched. Ponyboy's privacy and independence would be stolen away from him.

"Hey, kid! Where ya headed?" Someone in a nearby alley asked, popping his head out from the protection of a moonlit night. The man's hair was a light brown, scuffed with a shade of grey. The man was getting too old too fast.

"N-n-nowhere. Wh-why?" Ponyboy inquired, backing farther away from the alley. His green-grey eyes darted from side to side, and he kicked the duffel bag behind him, in an effort to protect his precious treasures.

"What's in the bag? Acid? LSD? You a hippie or summen?" The ebony male asked, revealing his form completley. He was a tall, slender man, with chocolate skin, as well as chocolate-colored eyes.

"By God, no. Why? Who are you?" Ponyboy quirked an eyebrow in classic Two-Bit style.

"'Cause I hate hippies. Annoying ass creechures. Ah'm Leonardo, by the way. Leonardo Finch. Now, what's in the bag?" The black man prodded, eyeing it with suspicion and lust. Whatever was in the mysterious satchel, Leonardo wanted it, and wanted it then.

"Pills. Pills, books, and some clothes. I'm getting the hell outta Tulsa." Ponyboy mentally checked his pockets, just to be sure he had his trustworthy switchblade on him.

"Any of it for sale, boy? And whatcha doin' with all 'em pills?"

"None of your business. Now, please, let me get on my way. I'll miss my bus if you don't."

"Then ah guess yer missin' yer bus, ain'tcha?" Leonardo snickered, making a lunge for his duffle bag, but Ponyboy swiftly retracted his switchblade from his pocket and clicked it open, so that just as Leonardo lunged, he got a throatful of a sharp, metal blade.

**_Oh my God! I just stabbed a man!_**

**_Stabbed him._**

**_Killed him._**

**_Oh my God! I gotta get outta here!_**

Leonardo sputtered out blood and curse words as his breath drained out in crimson fluids. Ponyboy sighed and stabbed the man one last time, to ensure his own safety. Strangely, Ponyboy felt guilty, yet he knew Leonardo deserved it. Deserved every last stab. He tried to take Ponyboy's precious pills! Tried to take what he needed.

Ponyboy nodded to himself, making a mental promise and oath to never let anyone come near him, or his pills. And, if they did, they would suffer the dire consequences, just like Leonardo had. Ponyboy frowned and kicked Leonardo to the side, somehow not enjoying his newfound freedom. In his sanity, Ponyboy almost, just almost, ran back home to Soda and Darry, his tail between his legs, ears folded down.

But he didn't. Instead, Ponyboy kept running.

He would have missed his bus if he hadn't.


	3. A Familiar Face

_A/N: A short chapter, sorry. Apologies for taking a million years to update, but a girl gets busy. c: Foyet is making me tamales, mojitos and muffins and he says hello. R/R_

_**Third Person P.O.V**_

Ponyboy collapsed on top of a bench, his breath rushing out in labored streaks. His heart was pumping much quicker than before he ran from the man who was after his pills.

Never again would he let such a terrible thing happen. Ponyboy's left eye twitched a little as he unscrewed a bottle of childproof Tylenol and poured three into his sweaty, bloody palms.

Childproof.

What a funny, ironic word. A word that meant absolutely nothing. He was so used to unscrewing the lids that it was almost second nature to him. "Childproof" was a bunch of bullshit. Just like Darry's claims and Sodapop's biased fights. Ponyboy could, quite literally, feel the rage and pain surge through his veins as he attempted to keep his anger to a minimum. Ponyboy's pupils dilated as he popped another Tylenol into his mouth, taking it dry. He made a disgusted face and cringed, creating a mental note to drink water the next time his stupid ass decided to take pills.

"Sir, this is the end of the bus route. You'll need to get off now," The driver stared down at his palms with sympathy. "Poor kid. Someone sure did a number on ya." Ponyboy looked down and hopped off the bus, the driver's wallet clutched in his hands. That's what someone gets for leaving their posessions on a public bus seat. As soon as he was to a safer location in the middle of nowhere, he got the courage to open the wallet and peek inside. There really wasn't much, but there was enough for him to start saving up to buy a plane ticket the hell out of Tulsa. Hell, maybe even out of Oklahoma. Like Dally, he'd gotten into a murder rap before, but not intentionally.

Ponyboy's mind wandered to seven different places. Out of all the aliases he could have chosen to hide the greaser he once was, why did he have to choose what seemed like the strangest, most cliche name alive? God, why, out of all names, did he choose "George"? Pony took a breath. It was too late to change what had already been officalized. Perhaps, it was like it being written in stone.

He wasn't Ponyboy Curtis anymore. The realization of his own identity crisis crashed upon him heavily, sending him into a whirlwind of paranoia. What if someone found out that not only had he intentionally murdered a black man (which could also be considered a hate crime), but that he had jipped another's wallet? They could easily trace the crimes back to the bleach blonde greaser with blood on his palms. The mere thought of being sent back to Tulsa made him feel just like Death. Bleak. Dark.

It made him feel like the Reaper.

"Ponyboy! Where the hell did you run off to this time, you little shit?!" Steve hollered, sprinting past the DX into the West Side. He easily ignored all of the rude, Soc stares and continued to hunt for Ponyboy. Soda and Darry would have hunted, except for the fact that they were too emotionally riveted by, again, another disappearance. This time, however, there was another factor involved.

There had been a murder against a black man, and all the signs pointed straight back to Ponyboy. Why in the world Ponyboy would kill somebody was beyond the entire gang's comprehension. This wasn't a serial murder they were after, this was, well, _Ponyboy_. He wouldn't hurt a fly unless the situation called upon it to be so. Steve took a breath and hollered again.

No reply. There really wasn't much point into giving a fuck about Ponyboy's whereabouts any more. His best friend and his best friend's older brother let the little boy do what he pleased, and, if Pony ended up dead, it was no body's fault but his own. As Steve trekked back through the West Side and home to his territory, he unconciously noticed something strange in the cool atmosphere. He looked about, trying to pinpoint the source of the putrid smell. It couldn't have been the black druggie's body, for the mortition had already taken the body away. Suddenly, the smell hit him.

It smelt like Death.


End file.
